She
by youngjudaean
Summary: i've had this in the back of my mind for a while, so i thought i'd share. enjoy!


She can't really remember how she got here, not that she knows where here is. In fact, she can't really remember much of anything anymore. She doesn't know where she's from, or who her family was. She can't recall feeling loved, and safe, and warm. All she knows is that this is where she is, and that this is where she'll be.

She hates to look in the mirror, because she doesn't recognize the girl that she sees there. There is a vague sense of wrongness about the reflection she tries to avoid. As though something is telling her that surely _she_ would never look that way. Not that stark, frightened face, not those big, scared eyes. This can't be who she's supposed to be.

If she filled out a little, she could be beautiful, she thinks. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, so that her veins all show clearly, and give her skin a bluish cast. Her eyes are dark, endless pools of obsidian. Her beauty is ethereal, and she seems impossible. Impossibly thin, impossibly sad, impossibly anything. There is no way to tell what she used to be, from what she is now.

She hears them whispering in the hall way. They're talking about her, but she doesn't know what they're saying. Though the voices bite, they leave no visible damage. But she's slowly crumbling, dissolving into what they want her to be. She doesn't know who she is, and so she doesn't know how to ignore them. How to tell them that they're wrong, and that she is healthy, and normal, like everyone else. Or maybe she can't tell them, because it's not true. She doesn't remember anymore. She doesn't know what normal felt like.

She thinks that maybe she is dying. That she is simply fading away, until all that's left of her is few words on a tombstone, and a handful of scattered memories. There isn't any pain, but there aren't any other feelings either. Just numbness. At least now she knows that dying doesn't hurt.

She sees the world in black and white, with shades of grey in between. She wonders what people are talking about when they say red, and purple, and yellow. What the world looks like in color, and what dreams would be. She hears people talking about the sparkling aqua ocean, and the vivid yellow sun, and she doesn't know what they mean.

It's possible that other people know more about her. Someone must be taking care of her, because she always has clean clothing, and she's always well groomed. There is food for her to eat, and a place for her to stay. She doesn't know these people, and she's not sure if she ever did, but they seem to have a connection to her. There must be a reason that they keep her around, but she doesn't know what it is anymore.

It's easiest to find her in the library. She likes the quiet there, and the smell of the books. The characters she reads are predictable, and the plots are without surprises. Everything is controlled there, and she knows where everything belongs. The books don't evoke emotions in her, because nothing does that anymore, but they fill her time.

She tries to remember sometimes. She tries to figure out where she came from, and who she belongs to. But there are no clues anywhere in her life as to what she is doing here, and who she is. There is no way for her to find out what she means to people, and what they meant to her. She is alone, even though she is surrounded by others, because no one else exists in her life.

She's losing her words. She doesn't know the meaning of youth, joy, or glee anymore. Phrases like "happiness is being satisfied with who you are" don't say anything to her. She can no longer recall how to express the feelings that she doesn't have, and the colors she can't see. She knows there are things she is missing, but she doesn't know what they are, or where they went. Only that, yet again, her mind is betraying her.

She thinks she may not be real. She keeps looking for her onoff switch, or an outlet that she can plug herself into. Everything she does seems so programmed, so routine, that she can't be a human being. If she were a robot, her life would make sense. She wouldn't be lacking in anything – colors, words, or feelings. She would be exactly what she was meant to be; nothing more, nothing less. So she keeps trying to find somewhere to recharge, or a way to shut herself down.

She's losing her senses. Things don't smell anymore, or taste. Putrid, odiferous, spicy, sweet – she no longer remembers what these felt like. It's possible that she's just ignoring them now, because they make her feel uneasy. They make her uncomfortable, and she would rather be numb.

She's nothing but an outline now. The thinning shell of what once was a person. She is hollow spaces, empty and echoing. All that she is is wrapped up in breathing, and staying alive. Because even though she is nothing, she cannot stop. She cannot shut down, and end her life. So she breathes, and she fades, and she waits.

She needs to feel, and so she goes to him. But he can do nothing for her. He can bruise her skin, and fill her temporarily. It never lasts. She keeps going back, but it never makes a difference. This is what numbness feels like. This is death.


End file.
